The Color of Blood
by Lonesome Road
Summary: A bargaining chip was needed, and so a bargaining chip was made. A young girl, ripped away from her family, was thrust into a new life, one where she needed to learn poise and grace to survive. So she learned, she learned and she adapted, and as she did, she was given a new name, one to fit her new life, and so was Brannelle Lannister born.


**Helloooooo**

 **To new readers, welcome**

 **To old readers, welcome back**

 **Not sure how long this'll last, but I like this one.**

 **Now onwards, readers, to fame and a glorious death!**

* * *

The sunset was red, casting a dim sort of light on the young woman who stood on the edge of the tower wall, the violent, high altitude winds whipping her dark hair about. She stared at the ocean as it beat against the sharp rocks that littered the coastline so far below.

She was alone at the top of the tower, nobody cared that she had climbed it, none of them thought her brave enough to take the jump. She leaned a little bit farther forward, a few droplets falling from the cut on her face and going down, down, down until she could see it no more. The red drips lost in the sea and the waves. Red, her eyes traveled to linger on the drops that had hit the stone at her feet.

Red. Red was the color of blood. Blood ran through her veins, through the veins of every creature that roamed the world, bringing life to them all.

Life.

Her breath hitched, life was a complicated thing, given with love and taken so easily. She remembered her mother's gentle smile, her tinkling laugh, and the warmth that was now so long gone.

Life.

She remembered his belting guffaw, his mirth-filled eyes, and the accuracy of polished steel.

Life.

She could still feel that lingering touch, still hear that whisper in the dark, still knew the way he'd made her breath run ragged. She remembered them, she remembered him, she remembered _life_. She remembered blushing cheeks, dark hair and dark eyes, that mischievous smirk and the hesitant fascination that had come with it.

She also remembered death. She remembered the way they'd been dancing and the sharp cry that had broken them apart. The clash of steel on steel still rung in her ears. Murmured urging and her mother's desperate call for mercy a common companion. She remembered the flash of that sword, followed by a dull thud and the horrible stain of blood on skin.

She paused. Blood. Her thoughts quieted and her mind returned to its previous state.

Blood. Red.

The sound of softly beating wings drew her attention. An eagle soared in the air, making her envious of the of the freedom it possessed, to be able to fly far, far away from here, far, far away from the life she'd never wanted and the wedding she'd been sold to. Maybe she could fly too, her breath caught and a twisted sort of smile shaped her lips. Slowly, cautiously, she made as if to take a step forward before pausing, her foot dangling in the air. Maybe she'd never be able to fly, she thought as she inspected the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bricks that held her off the ground, but she could still try.

At that moment everything seemed to come to a halt. The wings of the eagle faded to nothing, the steady thrum of the sea calmed, even the wind stopped blowing. It was as if the world was watching with bated breath, waiting to see what she would do.

Red. Red was the color of life. Red was the color of blood. Red was the color of death.

Her breaths fell harshly, her face felt hot and she felt herself inch forward ever so slightly.

Red. Blood. Life. Death.

She was close, her heart screamed, so close. To soaring. To flight. To freedom. She stared at the rocks below. She would be flying. She would be free. She felt herself preparing to fall, but something nagged at the back of her mind, refusing to leave her alone.

Red.

Breathing out softly, she brought her foot back to rest on the sun-beaten stone, stepping down from the tower wall. She wouldn't be flying, at least, not today. Her mouth a hard line, she averted her gaze from the sinking, red sun. Red was the color of blood, of life and of death. But red? She turned around and swept down the tower stairs, anger and pain giving her newfound strength.

Red was the color of revenge.

And what revenge she would have.

* * *

...

* * *

"The wedding shall take place one moon hence,"

"And the honeymoon?"

"Lord Tywin has declared that there is to be none,"

"And what of the girl's education?"

"There's a maester at Winterfell,"

"And what shall she be doing in the meantime?"

"Etiquette lessons have been arranged with their septa,"

Jon Snow clenched his jaw as the old men argued, staring resolutely at the grey stone that made up the wall. He pursed his lips, marriage. Never in a million years had he thought that it would be like this. He had always thought that if he were to wed he would at least be able to choose his own bride. After all, nobody wanted to barter off a bastard unless it was to the Wall. Then again, these weren't exactly normal circumstances.

Frowning, Jon carefully kept his face away from Robb, trying to keep a scowl off of it lest Catelyn see and scold him. Again.

Even so, a frown shaped his lips. It truly was an unorthodox situation, stopping a war by marrying off a bastard from one family to a bastard from another. It was an insult both ways and yet it was still the most important strategic decision in several years. It had been a surprise to all, especially him. Until the talks had started, he hadn't even been aware that Tywin Lannister had had a bastard.

Sighing, he deflated, lifting his hand to rub his forehead. An arranged marriage was bad enough, but a marriage to a Lannister. He almost hated Robb for the thought. He knew that the marriage was essential, imperative, that it needed to happen. Even still, he could only feel resentment when he thought about it, yes, it needed to happen, but that didn't mean he would have to like it.

"Then we are agreed?" one of the old men stood up, drawing Jon's attention, "The girl shall arrive on the day of the wedding in one moon's time."

Jon's eyes widened, it was finally over. After weeks of talks, terms, compromises, and arguing, the discussion was finally done, the Moot had reached a conclusion. The war was over.

The war was over, and he was to be married in a months' time. To a Lannister.


End file.
